


Sin Aesthetics

by Rach3lMTT



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Superpowers, super powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rach3lMTT/pseuds/Rach3lMTT
Summary: A dark take on JAM from The Office, if everyone in the world had superpowers





	1. Sweetness and Fright

**Author's Note:**

> When everyone's super... no one will be.

Pam gazed skyward, savoring the remnants of a December sunset… cotton candy pink, streaked through with warm hints of creamsicle. She'd never dared to try it during the peak of midday, nor in warmer seasons. She'd learned her lesson after literally blistering her tongue on a pot of boiling water as a child.

Movement caught the corner of her eye. She gasped, suddenly flustered, wide-eyed with astonishment. Why was _he_ still here? He should have been gone… she checked her watch… six minutes ago. Her brow knit in consternation. She'd done everything right. She'd spent the requisite eleven minutes in the ladies’ room after punching out. That should have made her late enough to avoid running into Jim, but not so late that she wouldn't beat Roy to the truck. Roy didn't like to be kept waiting.

As always, the sight of Jim evoked an involuntary reaction. The flavors of pine, fresh mint, and lime jellybeans coated her tongue. Woodsy, warm with a hint of coolness, the perfect temperature. Cozy, like a log cabin in the middle of the forest. Never hot, never cold, always sweet. She was generally able to choose whether or not to invoke her powers, but she'd never been able to help herself where he was concerned.

He turned his head and caught her staring. With a friendly grin, he waved goodbye. Her hands clung to each other in an unconscious gesture. She cast her eyes downward, mouth watering. As her gaze fell, the small diamond on her left hand caught her eye. Not for the first time, the sight brought the salt tang of sweat and the sharpness of bile to the back of her throat. Her gorge rose involuntarily. Gasping, bending at the waist, she looked around feverishly for something to get the taste out of her mouth before it was too late. Anything, even a little snow would do, but all she saw was asphalt. She vomited, staggering on her feet. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at it, knowing she'd be unable to stop if she didn't. She'd gotten better at controlling her powers over the years, particularly in front of co-workers, but her defenses were low after the last words Roy had spoken at lunch.

Eyes closed, she reflected darkly while she wiped her mouth. His flavor had _changed_. He'd tasted like warm leather, coffee, and dark chocolate when they'd met back in high school. Now, like him, it had gone to seed. Stale, musty, bitter. Like a cheap hershey bar left to crumble in the back of a forgotten cabinet… like meat gone rancid, no longer prime. She hadn't known it was possible until it happened, but then she'd never met anyone with a power remotely similar to hers. Unlike people with more common abilities, she couldn't exactly compare experiences.

Gasping now, she tried to avoid thinking any further along those lines. He was due outside any second, and she needed to get ahold of herself.

 

 _Whoa._ Jim jogged across the parking lot, lifting a hand without thinking. At the last moment, he pulled back instinctively, shoving both into his pockets. "You okay, Beesly?"

His voice and expression evidenced concern. She opened her eyes. _Pine._ She looked up into his eyes. _Mint._ Instantly, the turmoil in her stomach vanished, as though it had never existed. _Lime._ Feeling better now, she nodded and looked away. She opened the truck door and stepped up into the driver's seat, avoiding further eye contact.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he said sincerely. She was pale, her eyes enormous. She looked unsettled, fearful. Not for the first time, he longed to sweep her into his arms, to put the light back into her eyes. 

She nodded again as she closed the door, glancing apprehensively toward the warehouse door. _Thank you,_ she thought at him out of habit. Realizing he couldn't hear her, she mouthed the words with a nervous wiggle of her fingers, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

Shoulders slumped with regret, Jim backed away when she started the engine. He crossed the parking lot, lost in thought. He and Pam hadn't interacted outside of work for months, and it hadn't been a slow drift. It was as though she'd constructed a concrete wall between them overnight. They'd become fast friends when he'd started at Dunder Mifflin, but something had changed. He hadn't seen it coming, and still didn't know the reason. She'd even stopped bringing in jellybeans, removing his flimsy pretext for spending time at reception.

After starting the engine, he frowned at his hands. For the umpteenth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

 

Pam contemplated reams of bond paper as she slid across the bench seat, to the passenger side. She turned up the radio, rested her head against the icy window, and silently sang along with the lyrics. During the commercials, she wondered what to make for dinner. She should call Penny, it had been awhile since they'd caught up.

The driver's side door opened and closed. Although Roy never opened his mouth, his thoughts broke through the noise she was deliberately generating. _SO fuckin' horny, Pammy._

She gazed wistfully out the window as the office disappeared around a corner. _Please, not tonight._

 _Yes, tonight. OR ELSE._ The command thundered through her mind. She clasped her hands instinctively over her ears, as though the gesture could keep him out or turn down the volume. Of course, it was futile.

 _Please, I have a headache,_ she begged him silently. _How about tomorrow?_

 _Fuck that. How about right now?_ His laughter echoed rudely inside her head as he unbuckled his belt and grabbed her wrist.

She looked around anxiously. _No! No, please. Someone will see._

_Do it. NOW._

Burning with shame, she did it. She stared blankly out the window, trying not to look at him, trying not to think. If she did, she'd surely vomit inside his truck—not theirs, as he liked to remind her—and things would go from bad to worse. He stopped her before he finished. Tears leaking silently down her cheeks, she wiped her hand on her skirt, knowing the worst was yet to come.

Once they were home, he shoved her back against the front door. She cringed when her head bounced off the wood. The headache she'd lied about was now a reality. He tugged his pants down and pulled up her skirt.

 _Please. Don't,_ she begged him silently. She tried to distract him. _Aren't you hungry? I was thinking about breakfast for dinner._ It rarely worked, but it was worth trying for the few times it did.

His voice boomed inside her head. _You've been thinking about Halpert again._

 _No_ , she denied soundlessly, doing her best to avoid thinking about anything remotely green. _I swear I wasn't_. She thought about footballs _pine_ and hockey pucks _mint_ and basketballs _lime_ and waverunners—

_Shut up, bitch. You're wet. I know you were._

_NO!_ she screamed silently. For the first time in a long time, she resisted. She shoved at his chest, jammed her legs together, and tried to twist away from his grasp. In a heartbeat, his thick fingers were wrapped around her neck. Immediately, she froze, retreating instinctively. She fixated on the painting on the opposite wall, a small framed reproduction of Starry Night. She'd painted it back in high school. It was far from perfect. Even so, she couldn't do it again if she tried… it had been years since she'd so much as touched a brush. But if she squinted hard enough, the flaws blurred together and she could taste the original piece… raspberry blue ice cream. Life had been so full of promise back then. So simple. So clean and pure and sweet.

After he finished, she showered automatically, dressed mechanically, and made dinner robotically. First, you

_pine_

scramble the eggs. Scramble, scramble, scramble. Then, you

_mint_

add the ham and cheese. Ham and ham and cheese cheese cheese. Then you

_lime_

wait a few minutes for it to heat up, so you get out the plates and then…

and then… and _pine_

then… and then… and _mint_

then… you _lime HE WAS GOING TO CHOKE ME_

The plates slipped out of her hands, shattering on impact.

_HE RAPED ME AGAIN HELP ME SOMEBODY ANYBODY_

She crumpled weakly against the wall and slid down onto the tile.

_NOBODY CARES_

It was cold.

_ONLY PINE MINT LIME AND I CAN'T_

_I can't_

She didn't care.

_i cant_

_so i wont_

She lay still, emotionless. Tears were for sad people and she wasn't sad anymore. She wasn't sure she was even a person anymore. Personally, she didn't care. She didn't care that she didn't care. The subsequent intrusion was hardly unexpected.

 _If you ever tell ANYBODY, I'll kick his ass._ _Or worse._

There was no privacy under this roof. She didn't care. _Dinner's ready._

He eyed the broken glass and stepped around it carefully. _Clumsy bitch. You're buying new ones._

She would. She didn't care. _Okay._

_You KNOW I hate ham in my eggs, you stupid CUNT!_

She forgot. She didn't care. _Okay._

He picked up the hot pan and hurled it against the wall, aiming for the painting. The frame shattered as it fell to the floor, adding glass shards to the mess she'd made. He laughed cruelly, silently, for her ears only. _I'm going to McDonald's. Be back whenever. It's poker night._

 _Now_ she cared. Not about herself, but about that poorly-executed, perfect little painting. Every emotion she'd been unable to feel came screaming back in an instant. " _NO!"_ she howled, the first word she'd said out loud since hanging up the phone at a quarter to five. She crawled over as the door slammed shut, desperately picking off bits of greasy ham and chunks of egg. But the molten cheese wouldn't come off, try as she might.

_Pine._

She didn't realize she'd cut herself until she noticed red drops raining down on the canvas.

_Mint._

She didn't realize she'd pulled out her phone until it was in her hand.

_Lime._

She didn't realize who she was calling until it was ringing.


	2. Need a Hand?

Jim pulled out his phone. Seeing the name on the caller ID, he left his cards facedown on the table. "Might need to deal me out," he said distractedly, shutting himself into the bathroom. "Hey, Pam. What's up?" He put a finger in his other ear, blocking out the music and laughter still audible through the door. Silence greeted him. "Hey," he said again, gently, recalling the expression that had been on her face that afternoon. Like a lamb going to slaughter. "Everything okay?" Still nothing. "I've really missed talking to you," he offered hesitantly. He heard the beginning of a sob before the line went dead.

Striding to the front door, he shrugged into his jacket. He tried to call back, but she didn't pick up. Ignoring Mark's questions, he jogged out to his car. She'd called from her cell, not the house phone. He couldn't be sure she was home, but he had to start somewhere.

He drove tensely, glancing at his hands as though they held the answers to his questions. He'd caught her looking at him more and more often lately. She'd looked away every time. He'd known something was wrong, but the harder he'd tried to reach her, the further and faster she'd retreated. He'd come to understand that Pam was like that cornstarch goop from middle school science class. So, as much as it pained him to do, he'd given her space. At the same time, he'd made it clear that the lines of communication were open his way, even if hers were closed. He couldn't help wondering whether his approach had finally worked, or if he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.

He killed the engine in her driveway. Roy's truck was gone, but the house lights were on. He knocked on the front door. Hearing nothing, he tried the knob. It was unlocked. He pushed it open, just a crack, and called her name.

No response.

He opened the door a little wider, just enough to poke his head inside. "Oh _Jesus_ ," he muttered in disbelief, rubbing his mouth, taking in the scene as he entered the kitchen. Pam was curled up on the floor, barefoot. Her hand was bleeding, her face colorless. Broken glass surrounded her along with bits of food, an upended frying pan, and a thoroughly ruined painting. Glass crunched loudly beneath his shoes as he approached. Her eyes widened and she hugged her knees closer to her chest… but for once, she didn't look away. "What happened?" he asked, crouching carefully beside her. She shook her head and shifted, as though to sit up. "Don’t try to move yet," he told her, shaking his head. "We don't want you to get another cut." He tried to inject a note of authority into his words while remaining sympathetic. Fortunately, she stilled. "What happened?" he repeated. He didn't really expect an answer. She closed her eyes and remained soundless, unmoving.

Jim removed his gloves and looked at his hands for a long moment. It was time. He took her hand between both of his, ostensibly to examine the wound. Her fingers were trembling and cool to the touch. She flinched a little, but didn't protest. "It's okay," he reassured her. "I'm just going to take a look." At the same time, he examined her feelings, for the first time since they'd met. There was a reason he never had, a reason he'd kept his hands in his pockets whenever she was around. But she hadn't talked, _really_ talked, for months. And she needed his help now, even if she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Having resolved the ethical dilemma, Jim closed his eyes and focused.

 _Shock._ _Loss._ He glanced at the painting. It was ruined beyond repair, smeared with melted cheese, stained with grease and blood. Her blood. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and concentrated. _Purple_. His brow furrowed in confusion. Purple was _not_ a feeling. He disregarded it, assuming it was either the chaos of her mental state or an artifact in his perception. Probably the latter—he was rusty, and he'd never excelled at this in the first place.

 _Yearning._ He focused on it. What did she want? His powers weren't honed particularly well, and he'd never be able to hear her inner monologue. That was the domain of telepathy, and he wasn't a telepath. But he could feel her emotions, skim the surface of her mood, and possibly piece together cause and effect. She wanted… safety. Peace. Food. And... green? There it was again, another color. He quirked his head, puzzled, because there was no doubt that she was feeling purple… no, it was more than that. She actually _was_ Purple. And she clearly wanted Green. He had no idea what the hell any of it meant, but he filed it away and sifted further down. He passed several emotions on the way to what he sought, passing them one by one... _Uncertainty. Cold. Shame. Self-castigation._

____

_Fear_. At last. He drilled down. Fear of… another color. Brown, this time. _Pain_. Where was she hurting? _Loss. Violation_. _Resignation_. His eyes clenched involuntarily at the realization. Someone had clearly assaulted her, possibly even raped her. Worse, it had clearly happened before. _Indecision._ _Fear…_ of Brown _. PANIC!_ for Green _. Paralysis._

____

Grinding his jaw, he put the pieces together. Who else could Brown be but Roy? It wasn't that she didn't want to get away from him, but she was convinced he'd hurt Green if she left. So she did nothing, allowing him to continue hurting her instead. Horror gnawed at his stomach. "I'll be right back to clean this up," he said gently. "Then we'll take care of your hand. It doesn't look too bad. Okay?"

____

She opened her eyes a slit, sighed, and looked up at him. _Green Green Green._ Her expression eased and she closed them again. _Gratitude. Green. Exhaustion._

____

Light-headed with emotion—his own, this time—he released her and looked for a broom, his heart skittering with the realization of Green's identity. After ensuring every last shard was safely in the trash, he cleared his throat. With a herculean effort, he spoke as though she hadn't just shattered him to the marrow. "All clear. Can I help you up?" _I want you too_ , he thought wistfully as he held his hand out. _So damn much._ Still, he kept silent and schooled his expression. It was hardly the time or place to be thinking about himself _._ He was thankful that, unlike some powers, his didn't go both ways. Although he didn't know hers any more than she knew his, chances were incredibly low that they had the same one.

____

Pam opened her eyes and nodded, placing her good hand into his. _Green Green Green. Gratitude. Fear. Denial._ "I'm not hurt." With Jim's assistance, she rose to her feet. _Deception._ "Not really. It's just a cut. I'm just… upset. I mean…" She looked down at the dried blood on the back of her hand. _Nausea._ Quickly, she looked up. _Green Green Green._ Just as quickly, she averted her gaze. "He didn't do this, it was the glass. I was just… clumsy. And this is the first time he ever… we ever… we never fight." _Guilt._ "It's just…" She looked down at the painting, too distracted to notice that he was still holding her hand. "I painted that in high school, and…" _Loss._ "It was the first… the only Van Gogh I… it's—it _was_ my… favorite…" Her eyes welled up. _Grief._ Her lower lip wobbled. _Despair._ A wild sob escaped her. _Desolation._ Keening miserably, she covered her face with both hands, severing the connection between them.

____

Aching, Jim sighed her name and wrapped his arms loosely around her. He'd never touched her before this day, never hugged her. He only hoped it wasn't too much, wasn't too soon, wasn't an overstep after what she'd been through. " _God…_ I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair, stroking her back. "He's never going to hurt you again. You're safe now, I promise."

____

She sagged against him. _Relief. Safety. Gratitude._ With a quiet sniffle, she rested her forehead against his chest. Her reaction emboldened him to say it again, to embrace her properly, hold her tight… the way she deserved. The way he wanted to. "You're safe now." _Yearning. Yearning. Yearning. Love._ She stiffened against him. _Disbelief. Shock. Brown! Panic! GREENGREENGREEN! DENIALDENIALDECEPTION!!_ She slipped out of his arms, severing the connection, calmly wiping her tears away.

____

Jim was reeling, practically dizzy from her mercurial mood swings. The sheer strength of her emotions broadsided him, yet she'd undergone that enormous revelation with a straight face... in complete silence. It was nothing short of staggering. Still, he was confident the hug wasn't an overstep. _I've loved you since the day we met_ , he thought fiercely, rubbing his hand over his mouth to keep the words in. He knew her well enough to know she wasn't ready to hear them, and might not be for a long time yet. That was fine. He would give her all the time she needed. After all she'd sacrificed, there was _nothing_ he wouldn't do for her.

____

"I'll be okay," she said in a voice devoid of emotion. He didn't have to be touching her to know it was the biggest lie she'd ever told. "Thanks for checking on me. I'm tired, I think I'll go to bed." She turned dismissively and padded down the hallway. "Have a good night."

____

In that moment, Jim was more grateful for his power than he'd ever been. Her ability to hide her true feelings was otherworldly, and his ability to handle confrontation was practically nonexistent. He couldn't help wondering if deception was her power. He knew now that giving her space had nearly destroyed her. He wasn't going to do that anymore. Instead of accepting the brush-off, he strode in front of her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and called her bluff. "I'm not leaving without you."

____

_Hope. Love. Terror. Denial._ She crossed her arms and squinted up at him. "Excuse me?"

____

She looked and sounded offended. Knowing it was a front, he pressed on. "We have to get you out of here, Pam. I'm taking you somewhere safe."

____

_Love. Fear. Denial._ She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly safe." _Deception._ "I'll see you at work on Monday." _Guilt. Love. Fear._

____

His gut told him she might very well be dead by then. Her emotions said she didn't really want him to go. He trusted them both, and ignored her words. "No. You're my best friend, and I'm not leaving without you."

____

_HOPE LOVE GREEN!_ She bit her lip and looked at him silently, eyebrows furrowed.

____

Heartened by the spark in her eyes, however faint, he went on. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Your dad's house? A hotel?"

____

_Disappointment._ She shrugged casually. "My dad lives two hours away. I can't afford to live in a hotel. I don't even have a car." _Resignation._

____

"You could stay with me and Mark." He didn't expect for a moment that she would agree, but he was out of ideas. "Our roommate moved out last month, so we have a spare bedroom. You can ride into work with me."

____

_LOVE. Temptation. Hesitation._ She twisted her hands together and glanced down at her engagement ring. _Brown. Nausea._ She looked up at him quickly. _Green Green Green. Love._ She took a deep breath. _Temptation. Gratitude. Love. Hesitation. Indecision._ Shaking her head, she replied, "That's a very… generous offer, but—"

____

He smiled at her warmly. Hesitation was much better than denial or deception. Definitely a step in the right direction. "We'd love to have you. Come on, let’s pack you a bag," he said decisively, keeping his hand on her shoulder as he guided her down the hallway. "We're having a party right now, as a matter of fact. You're welcome to join us."

____

_Guilt. Intrigued._ "What kind of party?"

____

"It's more of a casual get-together." _Curiosity._ "Friends, cards, food, drinks, music. All the good stuff."

____

_Hunger._ "What kind of food?"

____

"Burgers, hot dogs." Given that dinner was all over the kitchen floor, she obviously hadn't eaten yet. "We can throw a few fresh ones on the grill for you."

____

_Gratitude. Yearning._ "You guys grill in _December_?"

____

"We do grill in December," he affirmed, letting her go as they reached the bedroom.

____

Pam considered it. God, when was the last time she'd been to a _party_? She couldn't even recall. Well, she was hungry. Maybe it was her turn to play cards and get wasted for a change. "I could go for a burger or two," she said, distractedly piling some clothing into a suitcase. It'd been ages since she'd had so much as a sip of beer. Roy hadn't allowed— _nope_. She cut off the thought. After throwing her phone charger on top, she zipped it up, trying to ignore the twinge in her hand. She avoided thinking about whether this change would be temporary or permanent. She was done thinking for tonight. "Let me just slap on a band-aid and I'll be ready."

____

"I'll help." He followed her into the bathroom when she didn't protest. Moistening a washcloth, he held her wrist, dabbing gently at the cut. "Is there anything else you want to take?" he suggested gently. Like his mother and his sister, he was an empath. Unlike them, he'd never tried to hone his influencing skills beyond the bare minimum needed to sell paper. Still, he didn't want her to come back here, ever again. He hoped she'd never have to.

____

_Indecision._ She shrugged and stared off into the distance. _Avoidance._

____

"You don't have to make any major decisions right now," he said softly. "I just think it might be a good idea to take the things you absolutely can't live without, so you know they're safe." _In case Roy decides to break anything else irreplaceable,_ he thought bitterly.

____

_Love. Green. Indecision._ She shrugged again. _Avoidance._ He kept going. "Photos? Jewelry?" He gently attached the band-aid to the back of her hand. "Any other paintings? Just in case."

____

_Loss._ She gazed into his eyes for several seconds and swallowed hard. _Acquiescence._ Silently, she located an empty box. He took it and followed her through the house. She placed a jewelry box inside. A small shoebox from the bedroom closet, a few framed photos, a pillow, a handmade quilt. She pulled some stuffed animals off the bed and hid them under the quilt, avoiding eye contact as she scurried out of the bedroom. Shampoo, soap, deodorant, toothbrush, hairstyling implements. A photo album, a few pairs of shoes, books, movies, dishes, the green teapot. Along the way, she pulled three paintings off the walls, holding them protectively in her arms.

____

She paused by the door after shrugging on her coat. "Just in case," she said in a small voice, looking around the living room.

____

"Just in case," he affirmed gently. No matter what she felt for Roy or for him, this was her home. He watched the interplay of emotions on her face, wondering if she was still avoiding thinking about the possibility that this could be forever. He had no intention of letting her come back while Roy still lived here, not if he could help it. At the same time, he knew it wasn't his right to make to make that decision for her. That controlling bastard had taken so much from her already, and he wasn't about to do the same. He'd just have to show her how much better life could be without Roy, and hope that was enough.

____

Pursing her lips, Pam glared at Roy's autographed poster of Donovan McNabb. It was his pride and joy, the centerpiece of the room. She'd gotten it for him a year ago, but he'd never bothered to frame it. She glanced at the ruined remnants of her painting. Galvanized by the desire for revenge, she ripped it from the wall and tore it to shreds.

____

Jim smiled to himself. If it had been any other person, any other situation, the destruction of that particular piece of sports memorabilia would have been hard to watch. Instead, he was filled with pride. He couldn't help thinking that she'd made her decision, whether she realized it yet or not.

____

She kicked the crumpled scraps, scattering them around the living room floor. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she said with a small smile.

____

Heart pounding, he grinned back. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful her smile was. "I'm not."

____

She walked out without a single look back, a barely-detectable spring in her step. Weak with relief, he shifted the box to one arm, picked up her suitcase, and followed her out the door.

____


	3. Weekend at Jimmy's

"Hey everyone," said Jim. "This is Pam. Pam, this is everyone."

She waved awkwardly, looking around the room. There were about ten people around her age. No co-workers, nobody she recognized. Jim's and Mark's friends from school, she guessed. The guys were playing cards. The girls were standing around, chatting, holding drinks. One of them sat cross-legged in midair. Not for the first time, she wished enviously that she had a useful power like levitation. A dark-haired guy stood up from the couch. His air of ineffable charisma rivaled Jim's, although he wasn't quite so tall nor nearly as good-looking. "Pam as in, Dunder Mifflin this is Pam?"

 _Are you telepathic?_ she thought at him, shuffling uneasily in place, twisting her hands together. She didn't hear a response. That didn't mean he wasn't, of course.

"One and the same," Jim replied. "Pam, this is my roommate—"

"Mark," he finished smoothly. "You've transferred me to Jim's extension a few times," he explained. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too." His flavor was bold, very bright. Definitely yellow, although she didn't know him well enough to sort the impression into individual components yet. She cleared her throat and glanced at Jim for the briefest taste. Nobody she'd ever met could begin to compare.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Jim asked her.

 _Yes._ God, she needed to be drunk an hour ago. "I um, dunno. What do you have?" she asked with a shy shrug. It looked like most of the guys were nursing beers, but she was hoping for something a little stronger.

"A better question would be what _don't_ we have?"

"To beer or not to beer?" Mark contributed. "That is the question." The refrigerator and the freezer doors opened of their own accord.

"Show off," Jim accused him amiably, then looked back at her. "He bartends on the side. And he's a little telekinetic."

 _Pine mint lime._ She sighed wistfully. "Lucky."

"A _little_?" he asked in disbelief. He turned to Pam. "I can mix anything your heart desires. Weak and girly, or strong and manly?"

"Uh, that second one sounds… kinda nice," she admitted.

"What a gal," he said admiringly. "Long Island or bust?" She nodded, watching with admiration as several bottles floated over to the counter simultaneously. She'd seen telekinesis in movies, but she'd never seen it in action before. It was one of the most useful powers, one of the rarest, but notoriously hard to control. His must be incredibly well-honed if he could move several things at once.

"I'm going to throw another round of food on the grill," Jim announced. "Any takers?" He pulled an extra package of beef from the refrigerator in response to the general consensus.

"Can I help?" Pam volunteered, drifting aimlessly in the middle of the kitchen. "I could um, make the patties."

Jim glanced at her, ascertaining from the hope in her eyes that she didn't merely feel obligated. It made sense. He knew she liked to cook. With a flourish of his arm, he stepped aside. "Be my guest."

She rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands, feeling steadier as she did. She'd gotten rusty at this whole human interaction thing, to the point where she'd practically forgotten how to act in mixed company. It had been months since she'd participated in a non-work-related conversation with anyone who wasn't Roy or family, but _this_ was something she could handle. "Where's your spice rack?"

"Our _what?_ " Jim asked, cupping a hand to his ear as though he'd gone deaf.

"I think she said spice rack?" Mark commented. "Whatever that is."

"Oh man, I think I saw one of those in Macy's once. What's it do?" he inquired, feigning confusion.

She smiled, biting her lip. "Salt and pepper, then? I assume you have those."

Jim set them on the counter with a grin. "I assumed that cheese and ketchup were sufficient to make a delicious burger."

"Prepare to be proven wrong." She rolled up her sleeves and slipped her engagement ring into the pocket of her jeans. He watched intently from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. It _meant_ nothing, he reminded himself. He'd watched his mother do the exact same thing more times than he could count, and his parents had been happily married for almost forty years.

"You're changing the game," Mark said with admiration. Her finished drink slid along the counter, coming to a stop near her elbow. She thanked him and took a sip from the straw as she deftly salted and peppered the mound of beef, wielding both containers at once.

"We'll be right back," Jim said. He gave Mark a significant glance and gestured with his head. "Just going to fire up the grill really quick." Happily immersed in the task at hand, she hummed affirmatively as they put on their jackets. She began forming the patties, eyeing each for a quick taste before setting it aside.

The patio door slid closed behind them, courtesy of Mark. "What's up? Unless you work with more than one Pam, that's the girl you're in love with. Right?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yep." He leaned down and turned on the gas, then pushed the starter. Being propane, that was all the effort it took. Mark could have handled it from inside the house, but it was a plausible pretext for a one-on-one conversation.

"Isn't she engaged?"

"Yep," he repeated. "That was her calling me earlier. She needs a place to stay. I've got her things in my trunk. It was…" He exhaled loudly in the cold evening air. " _So_ fucked-up. He's been abusing her." Possibly by abusing his power, although Jim didn't have the first clue what that might be.

"Whoa… I'm sorry." Surprise colored his words.

"Me too… I had no idea." He could have… should have. He cursed his cowardice. If he'd done something sooner, he could have helped her months ago. "I told her she could stay as long as she needs to," he added hoarsely. He cleared his throat, his jaw working overtime against the guilt slamming him.

"Of course. That's cool."

"Thanks. And hey, I'll pay extra, double, whatever you want." It was literally the least he could do for her.

"What? Don't even… it's not like that. I'll clean out the spare room after everyone clears out."

"I really appreciate it," came Jim's grateful reply. That particular task would have taken far longer for him to do the old-fashioned way.

"No worries." Mark looked at the sky for a moment. "Does he know she's here?"

"Not yet." The implication was clear. "He wasn't there when we left."

"Have you considered what might happen when he figures that out?"

He'd thought of little else. He wasn't half as concerned with the potential harm to himself as he was with the possibility that Roy might convince Pam to go back home. "Yep."

"What's your plan?"

"Don't have one."

"What's his name?"

"Roy Anderson."

"What's his power?"

"No idea. Nothing physical, as far as I know. He works in the warehouse with us. He's kind of… intense."

"I've always said you need a gun. If this isn't the perfect opportunity, I don't know what is."

Jim pursed his lips and gazed at the moon. Mark had been trying to sell him on the idea for years. He'd nixed the idea, knowing he'd never be capable of using a weapon against another human being. "Alright. Let's do it."

Mark raised his eyebrows in shock. "It must've been _pretty_ fucking fucked-up."

"He deserves to die." He rubbed his mouth, controlling his emotions with effort. "Worse."

"That's a _hell_ of an indictment, coming from you." Mark thumbed over his shoulder toward the house. "You want to call it a night? I don't mind."

"No, not at all. She needs this. It's been a long time since she could… relax, you know?"

"I get it."

Jim looked at the ground. "I'd kill him myself, if I had a useful power."

"Hey, about that…" Mark looked at him speculatively.

He shook his head ruefully. "It's never going to happen. No matter how drunk you get me."

"Dick," Mark groaned. "Do you know what hers is?"

He shrugged. "She hasn't told me, and it's not obvious." He knew she thought of people as colors. It could be related.

"Do you mind if I ask her?"

He shrugged again. "She's had a rough year."

"I just want to know what we're up against… what she brings to the table."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Don't be a dick about it."

"You got it, dick."

Jim grinned happily. "You're the best."

Mark nodded agreeably. "The best dick."

They headed inside together. Pam was putting the finishing touches on the platter of burgers. "Good to go?" she asked.

"Good to go," Jim and Mark echoed simultaneously.

"Soo… jinx?"

"Hmm, well we're not girls," Mark replied.

"Are you sure?" she asked innocently, eyes sparkling.

" _Burn_ ," he said, impressed.

Jim chuckled, eyeing her glass. They'd only been outside for a few minutes, but her drink was nearly gone. "Thanks for making the burgers, Beesly. There's chips and pretzels in the cabinet, help yourself." He pointed at it. "Do you play poker, by any chance?"

She shrugged gamely and pulled out a bag of doritos. "I dabble. Is there room at the table?"

"I think we can squeeze you in."

"A girl who plays poker?" Mark said dubiously.

"You mean _another_ girl who plays poker?" she parried, raising her eyebrows at him.

He sighed as the freezer door opened. An ice pack floated across the kitchen and onto his forehead. " _Sick_ burn."

She laughed with her tongue between her teeth. "I'm really not very good," she said sweetly. "It's been awhile. But um, yeah. Deal me in."

Jim casually brushed her elbow as he reached for the platter. _Deception. Mischief._ Damn, he loved her. She was more alive than she'd been in ages. Although he was sure the alcohol didn't hurt, he had a feeling it was as much a result of the camaraderie in the atmosphere.

"You don't have X-ray vision or telepathy, do you?" he heard Mark inquire as he returned from the patio. "We don't allow that."

She rolled her eyes. "I wish. I have _the_ most useless power on the freaking planet."

"Hey Brian," Mark called across the room. "Pam thinks she has the most useless power on the planet."

A blonde man looked up from the poker table. "Wanna bet?" he called back. He held up his hand.

She watched curiously as his fingernails changed color to bright red. "Okay, second most useless," she giggled.

Jim pulled a beer out of the refrigerator. "Oh, it can't be that bad," he chimed in.

She turned her attention to him. _Pine mint lime_. It went very well with her drink. Better than Mark. His flavor wasn't unpleasant on its own, but the combination clashed horribly. "Well, what's yours?"

He shrugged mysteriously. Mark spoke up. "We've been friends since high school and even I don't know."

"I'm not telling if he's not," she replied, wondering about the possibility that he didn't have one at all. It was a rare but possible birth defect. More likely, it was something lame or embarrassing or difficult to demonstrate. She could understand that. The only way she could demonstrate her own was by spicing food deliciously. Hardly something to write home about.

"Fair enough," Jim said easily. "We play for quarters." He dug a handful out of his pocket and handed them over, brushing her fingers as he did. _Disappointment. Gratitude. Intrigued. Love._ If he would tell anyone, it'd be Pam. But it was… well, he was embarrassingly bad at it. He'd never worked on developing his abilities, and he was nothing compared to his sister. Unlike him, she'd never hesitated to use her power on strangers. He only used it incidentally, usually during handshakes with clients or while hugging family. She could read people like books, replay memories from across a crowded room. She could even influence the future by implanting suggestions, and she was younger than him.

He tried to catch her eye as he walked to the poker table, but she was staring at Pam intently. He couldn't help wondering what she saw.


	4. Poker? I Hardly Know 'er!

"I thought we said no x-ray vision."

"Smitty," Jim groaned.

"I don't have x-ray vision," Pam promised earnestly. "Or telepathy or empathy or… counting skills. Nothing that would give me an unfair advantage." She'd just always been good at poker. Even though she was a bit rusty, her pile of quarters had doubled in size within fifteen minutes.

"I'm down five bucks," he griped. "Can we at least make sure she's not lying?"

"She's not," a girl spoke up from across the room. Pam didn't know her name. "Quit being a douche, Smitty."

"Thank you, Larissa."

Pam leaned toward Jim and whispered a question. "Is she a lie detector?"

He shrugged, nodding. "That's my sister. Advanced empath. Sorry about that. I can ask him to leave the table."

"No," she demurred instantly. "I'm good."

"Almost _too_ good," he teased her.

Eyes sparkling, she nudged him with her elbow. "Et tu, Halpert?"

 _Mischief. Joy. Love._ "I'm down _six_ ," he complained good-naturedly. He'd never seen her play before. She was a goddamn card sharp.

"Well, I still owe you five. It's not so bad."

"You made dinner. I'll let it slide." He looked across the table at Mark. "You mind flipping the burgers?"

"Ugh," he groaned. "It's so much work… done."

Pam giggled tipsily. "You can do it without looking?"

"Yep."

"Wow," she said enviously. "Can you move people?"

He sighed mournfully. "Anyone but myself."

The floating girl spoke up. "Trade ya," she offered.

"Nah, I'm good."

Pam tossed back the rest of her drink and set down her cards. "Can you move me? I just want to see what it feels like." Suddenly, she was rising off the couch. She yelped, scrabbling at the air, landing on her feet in front of the refrigerator. She cleared her throat. "Little higher than I expected… but thanks." Flushed with exhilaration, she made herself another drink.

"Anytime."

"I've been asking you to do that for _years_ ," Jim accused him.

"I'll do it if you tell me your power." He waggled his eyebrows enticingly.

"You suck," he replied amiably.

"Right back atcha."

Once the food was ready, Pam claimed two burgers and dug in. It felt like she hadn't eaten in _days_. Thinking back, she guessed it had been awhile since she'd had a proper meal. She relaxed into the corner of a couch, legs crossed Indian style, comfortably buzzed. She looked at the television without really seeing it, heard the music without really listening. The alcohol made it possible to avoid thinking about anything important, to live in the here and now without worrying about the past or the future. She was perfectly content to do exactly that.

"Hey, these burgers are kick-ass, Pam," Mark called from the kitchen.

"Hey, thanks!" She smiled proudly. "You should really think about that spice rack. They'd be even better with some onion, garlic, and basil."

"You girls and your spices," he called back. "I bet cooking's your power. Is that a thing?"

"You don't have to answer that," Jim advised as he settled on the cushion beside her.

She nodded and remained silent.

"I think that's a thing," said a guy whose name Pam didn't recall, sparking a conversation about offbeat powers and their uses. She tuned it out and thought about how Mark had come closer to the truth than he realized. She wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to keep the secret, especially if she kept drinking. It wasn't so much that she was embarrassed. Although she didn't exactly want people to know she could taste them—or their aura or whatever it was, because that part of her power was incredibly weird—she didn't mind them knowing she could taste food at a glance and spice it to perfection. It was more that she didn't want Jim to know hers if he wasn't going to share his. She glanced at him between bites. _Pine mint lime._ If there was a better palate cleanser, she'd yet to encounter it.

"My uncle can shit any color of the rainbow," Smitty said loudly, his words ringing out in a sudden lull between songs.

"Bull _. Shit!_ " Mark cried as the room exploded with mirth. Pam laughed so hard she tipped sideways, just a little, holding her stomach. Jim looked at her from the corner of his eye as her elbow brushed his. _Disbelief. Joy. Tipsy. Love Green._ Her ring finger was noticeably bare. He smiled down at his plate.

"Hand to god," Smitty said earnestly. "Like, bright-ass pink unicorn shit. I'm not exaggerating."

"Larissa, what's the verdict?" Jim asked.

"Isn't _this_ an appetizing conversation," she griped, refusing to weigh in.

Which of course meant Smitty wasn't lying. "Glad that's not my power," he murmured quietly to Pam.

She giggled madly, ending on a hiccup. "What _is_ your power?" she asked, just as quietly.

"I have the power of… pine-sol," he said with an irreverent grin.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You suck!"

"Dude, I'd rather have that power than mine," said Brian. "Think about it. If you could shit white, you'd never have to deal with skidmarks again."

"Can we _not?_ " Larissa intoned shrilly. "I'm trying to eat here!" The girls chorused in agreement. "On that note, the burgers really are amazing. Thanks, Pam."

She flushed, pleased. "Anytime."

"Oh, next party for sure," Jim intoned for her ears only.

"You like?" she asked casually.

"Best burgers we've ever grilled," he said without ego. "Have I not told you that, Beesly?"

Her flush deepened. "Get some actual spices and I'll really wow you next time."

"I'm looking forward to it."

A drink floated its way across the room and onto the table in front of her. "Thanks, Mark," Pam called across the room. _Perfect timing_ , she thought as she reached for it.

"Don't get used to it," he warned her playfully. "I'm only getting you drunk so you'll tell us your power."

"It's going to take a lot more than this," she replied, feeling bolder. Feeling properly drunk. _Finally._

"Can I take your plate?" Jim offered. She thanked him and handed it over. He brushed her fingers briefly, making sure she wasn't feeling pressured to drink more than she wanted. _Satiation. Gratitude. Delight. Belonging. Drunk. Freedom. Love Green._ "Do you want seconds?"

"Only if you want me to explode like Mister Creosote." She giggled before hiccuping yet again. "Of course, with the power of pine-sol, I guess it wouldn't be a big deal."

They played more poker. It wasn't long before Pam began losing. She gave back most of what she'd taken earlier that night. Fortunately, she didn't lose any money of her own. The guys seemed to relax more, she noticed dimly. Maybe it would be a good idea to occasionally lose on purpose at the next party. Or start drinking sooner. _That_ was a pretty amazing idea. "Prob'ly gonna have to deal me out," she declared loudly. "Down to my last quarter." Not to mention she was practically seeing double by now. She held her cards in front of her face and squinted at them carefully, trying to determine what to discard.

"You doing okay?" Jim asked her _sotto voce_. He wasn't the type to cut someone off for overindulging. She'd had an incredibly rough day and he understood. But he'd gotten concerned about her two drinks ago, and she was tossing them back like water at this point.

"I feel like… one million quarters," she responded absently as she chose a card and slapped it triumphantly onto the table. "How many dollars is that?"

"Quarter of a million, give or take."

"How… _what_?" She gaped at him, eyes wide, inadvertently revealing her cards to everyone at the table. "Is _math_ your power?"

He glanced at Mark and made a subtle slashing motion at his neck.

Not surprisingly, she lost. "It's been real!" she declared as she attempted to stand. Halfway there, she swayed and started to fall. She would have landed flat on her back, but stopped at a forty-five degree angle. "Thanks, Mark!" She laughed giddily and looked at Jim, reflexively windmilling her arms through the air. "Where's the freakin' can in this place? Oh my _god_."

Larissa was already there. "I'll show you." Jim aimed gratitude her way. She nodded at him and gently helped Pam upright.

Mark spoke up after the bathroom door closed behind them. "Her last three drinks were coke with a splash of alcohol."

"It's no problem," he replied. He wished his own power were half as useful, but he concealed his jealousy out of habit.

A couple people gathered their coats and said their goodbyes. It wasn't even nine yet, but Jim would just as soon end the party now. He began cleaning up, hoping the rest would take the hint. Mark joined in. Momentarily, Larissa came back down the hallway and guided Pam onto the couch. "Hey, why don't you guys clear out," she announced to the room. It wasn't a question. "So long, thanks for all the fish, yada yada."

"It's early," Smitty commented. "We were going to start another game."

"Play it somewhere else," she suggested firmly.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled.

Once everyone had gone, Larissa gestured at Jim with her head. "Let's get her stuff inside," she said quietly. He grabbed his keys as they shrugged into their jackets.

"I'll help," Mark offered.

"No thanks. Keep her occupied, please. Non-alcoholically." She steered Jim out the front door and into the front seat of his car. After closing the passenger door behind her, she said, "Holy shit that girl has been through some _shit_." Blowing into her cupped hands, she rubbed them together.

"Yeah, she has," he agreed quietly, starting the car and turning up the heat. She put a hand on his arm and closed her eyes for a moment, apparently determining the extent of what he knew. He glanced down, surprised. It had been years since she'd needed to touch anyone to exercise her power.

"You're harder to read tonight," she explained. He raised his eyebrows. Still, as always, he wasn't able to read a thing coming from her. He'd never been able to, not even when they were children. "He's been destroying her," she said without preamble. "You got the gist this afternoon, so I'll spare you the details."

" _Tell me_ ," he insisted. "I need to know. And I don't want to make her… relive it to find out."

"Nothing you could ever say or do will stop her from reliving it," she said quietly.

He took a deep breath and looked at the sky. "Can you help with that?"

"I already did. Just a few suggestions, but I got the worst of it. I can't make her forget everything."

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. "Please. She's hurting so much."

"No," she insisted. "You think you want that but trust me, you don't. She's been with him too long. She would have massive, inexplicable holes in her memory. And she wouldn't be scared enough to stay away from him."

"Is that what she wants? To stay away from him? Forever?" He had to know, and he wasn't a good enough empath to determine her feelings beyond the present.

"Yes. He's telepathic, two-way, incredibly well-honed. They communicate with each other silently. She hears only what he wants her to hear. He hears her thoughts, _all_ of them, whether she wants him to or not. She hasn't had a private thought in their entire relationship. She never learned to resist. She tried, but she was too young when they met. And she isn't… strong. Not that way."

He wiped away a tear. "She used to be my friend. She got… I don't know, distant, practically overnight. What changed?"

"She started to like you. You showed her that she might have a choice… a way out. It wasn't just that, she likes you for who you are… screw it, you know what I mean." He sighed, nodding his understanding. "He'd always been controlling, but he locked her down hard when he found out."

His hands clenched into fists. "How many times did he…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. It hurt too fucking much.

"She doesn't even know. More than once. Does it really matter?"

" _It matters!_ " he shouted, losing control. "Everything I did was so… _wrong!_ " His voice broke. "I knew something was wrong with her but I… I backed off. I didn't try to use my power to help her until today. I could have helped her sooner." He hung his head. "He wouldn't have done it if she didn't like _me_ ," he whispered miserably. "Don't you get it? It's _my fault_."

She looked at him for a moment, brow furrowed. "She wasn't ready to admit she needed help until she called you today. Don't you see _that?_ She wouldn't have accepted it yesterday. Not even from you, no matter what you said. She wasn't ready to put you at risk to save herself until today." He shook his head miserably, unconvinced. "Don't be stupid. You're the _only_ one who could have reached her. I saw what happened, through her memories. Dealing with a crisis that severe requires knowing what to say, how to say it, when to push, when to back off. And _she_ isn't just anyone, she's way more internally-focused than average. Her resistance to change is off the damn charts. You said exactly the right things in exactly the right way. You did the right things. You got her to leave _voluntarily._ Trust me, it was a fucking miracle. Unless you had some grand plan to kidnap her and murder him, which is so retarded I don't even…" She took a deep breath. "Like, you _do_ realize that ninety-nine percent of people would have stopped trying by now if a friend blew them off, right? There's no way she would have followed anyone but you out that door. There's no way _you_ would have known how to handle the situation if you weren't an empath. So stop doubting yourself and let's get down to brass tacks."

It was the highest praise he'd ever heard from her, from anyone in his life. He thanked her humbly.

She waved it off. "Roy knows she likes you. He knows where you live. She thinks he'll try to kill you. From what I know of the type, that's an accurate assumption. You're going to need my help, so I'm staying the night. Mark's, too. I'll give him the reader's digest version. We'll have the advantage, especially if Roy is drunk when it goes down."

He rubbed his chin as he absorbed the information. "When do you think that'll be?"

"Maybe tonight. No later than tomorrow afternoon."

"How? He can't kill me with telepathy."

" _Don't_ underestimate him. He's ruthless. He has everything to lose. He's stronger than you. And he owns a gun."

He marveled at the amount of information Larissa had gleaned by simply observing Pam in the space of a single evening. "Fair enough. What's the plan?"


	5. The Emancipation Confrontation

A shriek issued from the living room as Jim opened the front door. _Pam!_ Gasping, he nearly dropped the box in his haste to make sure she was okay. His pulse escalated instantly, his heart threatening to burst through his ribcage.

"She's fine. Be careful," Larissa admonished him quietly. "That was a happy sound."

"Sorry. Little on edge," he admitted, setting it down with care.

As he rounded the corner, he had to smile. Pam was leaning over, reaching for a beanie on the floor. Her hair curled wildly over rosy cheeks. "Watch!" she told him breathlessly, pulling it on. "Who am I?" She crouched down unsteadily, then leaped, throwing the hat at the same time. At the apex of her jump, she and it froze in midair simultaneously. She squealed, looking at him with obvious delight.

"Beesly Tyler Moore?" he ventured.

"I can turn the world on with my smile!" She grinned, eyes alight with joy as she drifted slowly to the floor. Her hair continued to resist gravity, standing on end from static cling.

"I should’ve known that was your power," he said affectionately.

She rolled her eyes. "I wish. Come on, you try it." She walked over and handed him the hat. _Delight. Mischief. Drunk. Love Green._

He glanced at Mark with raised eyebrows. "How about it?"

"You know the price."

Pam turned around. "He has the power of pine-sol!" she declared earnestly. Mark and Larissa burst out laughing simultaneously, covering up Jim's amused snicker. " _Don't_ laugh," she scolded them, putting her hands on her hips, her elbow almost but not quite near enough to touch his arm. _Defensive. Protective. Love_ _Green_. "What if that really is his power?"

He eyed the infinitesimal gap between them and smiled at the floor, bemused. His power had never, ever worked without physical contact before.

"It's not," Larissa said with confidence.

"Do you know _everyone's_ power?" she asked. _Jealousy._

"Well, he is my brother. But yes, for the most part."

 _Intrigued._ "So you know mine?" Larissa nodded. _Dismay._ "Ugh. It's so useless," she complained. "Have you ever met anyone else with it? I don't even know what to _call_ it." _Bewilderment._

"It's nothing I've ever seen or heard of. Let's come up with a name."

 _Intrigued._ She walked over and plopped down on the couch, severing the connection. Jim watched for a moment, intrigued himself, while they talked quietly on the couch. "Thank you," he said to Mark. "Do you mind getting her stuff upstairs and cleaning out the room? Larissa’s got a plan."

"On it," he said easily. Pam's belongings began floating through the kitchen and toward the stairs.

"Wait!" she cried, running over and grabbing one of the paintings out of the air. She clutched it to her chest. It wasn't that she didn't trust Mark, not exactly, but that was a lot of things to be levitating all at once. And maybe it wasn't much, but it was _her_ stuff. There was the quilt her mother had made before the cancer took her… a place setting from her great-grandmother's china… a small box of things she didn't want _anyone_ to see… her paintings… So okay, maybe she didn't trust his power. Not yet. She didn't know him very well, after all. Face burning, she looked down at the ground.

"You got it," he replied, setting everything down at the base of the staircase before heading upstairs. Larissa followed, giving Jim a significant glance on her way.

He opened the junk drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a hammer and nails. "Have you thought about where you want to hang that?"

"Oh I was just, I dunno," she demurred softly. "They can go… under the bed. Not really…" She cleared her throat. "Not good enough to…"

"Look around you, Beesly. This is a classic bachelor pad. We are in desperate need of your interior decoration skills. Don't you want to feng shui it? Bring the wall chakras into optimal alignment?" He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. After a moment, he nodded sagely. "I feel like that one would go perfectly over the couch." She bit her lip, smiling in spite of herself. "But I will defer to your obvious good taste."

She squinted at him suspiciously. "How'd you guess my power?" He squinted back, sure she was kidding but not near enough to be positive. She cracked first, grinning impishly. "It's totally not," she admitted, turning and heading for the couch. "That would _actually_ be useful."

"I'll get it out of you someday," he teased her as he followed. They argued good-naturedly about how high on the wall it should go. She had just hung it on the nail when the front door crashed open on its hinges.

" _Pammy!_ " boomed a voice from the entryway. She screamed and covered her ears with her hands, sinking onto her haunches. Jim didn't waste a second, scooping her up in his arms and bolting for the hallway. _BROWN! DREAD! TERROR! PANIC! GREEN GREEN GREEN!_ It was imperative, according to Larissa, to keep her away from Roy. If they could prevent him from establishing line of sight with her, he wouldn't be able to communicate with her privately.

"I knew you'd be here, you cheating whore!" _OFFENDED!_ "Halpert's fuckin' dead _!_ " _TERROR!_ It was followed by laughter, somebody else's. _CRIMSON!_ A low, helpless moan burbled up from her chest. A deafening shatter rent the air, followed by the tinkle of broken glass. _BROWNCRIMSONDREADTERRORPANIC! PURPLELOVELOVELOVEGREENGREENGREEN!_  

"I'm fine, you're fine, we'll be okay," he promised her. Mark and Larissa were already hastening down the stairs. "He brought a friend," Jim advised curtly. He bit back a shocked curse as his feet left the ground. He tightened his arms around Pam as they rushed through the air, faster than any man could ever run. She clutched his neck convulsively, gasping, chest heaving. The patio door slid open as they hurtled toward it.

"Brother. Strength," Larissa called back knowledgeably, moving quickly but composed as always. "We got it." _GRATITUDEPANICDREADYELLOWTEAL!_

They landed safely on the patio, the sliding glass door slamming shut behind them at the same moment as the entryway door slammed open. An earsplitting crack of plaster rent the air. Jim heard yelling, too faint to make out, followed by a loud crash.

 _PANICDREADPANICDREADPANICDREAD!_ Jim took a deep breath and tightened his grip on Pam's trembling body. Although it had been a hard pill to swallow, the plan was for him to hide with her. If the situation got out of control, they would take his car and call 911. Someone needed to stay with her, and his power simply couldn't compete with either of theirs. He'd be more of a liability than an asset… another moving body to distract Mark, another set of volatile emotions to interfere with Larissa's concentration.

Suddenly, Pam began hyperventilating in the wintry chill. _PANICPANICPANIC!_ "We're going to be fine," he soothed her. _COLDPANICPANIC!_ He sat in a deck chair out of sight of the door and cradled her in his lap. _COLDCOLDPANIC!_ He pulled the beanie out of his pocket and over her head, then wrapped his arms protectively around her. She was shaking from head to toe, shivering, terrified. "We're safe. Don't be scared. _Don't_ ," he murmured fiercely, eyes shut tight, willing her to believe his words with every fiber of his being.

 _Acquiescence_. Between one heartbeat and the next, her breathing eased. She took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed against him. _Gratitude. Trust. Love._ "Okay," she said quietly.

His mouth fell open. Shocked, he couldn't respond. At length, he found his voice again. "Okay?" he repeated dumbly. As she nodded silently against his chest, he heard an engine start out front. Suddenly aware of the absence of sound inside the house, he rose and resettled Pam on her feet, then leaned over for a quick peek through the door. Larissa was approaching it with an enigmatic smile. She beckoned him inside.

"All clear," he said, stepping over the threshold. Pam followed, blowing into her cupped hands. "Stay behind me," he warned her. He took in the scene as he entered the living room. The card table had been upended. The entryway door and the wall beside it were damaged. Roy was on the kitchen floor, apparently unconscious, hands and legs tied together with bungee cords. His brother was nowhere to be found. Mark was lying on the couch with an ice pack on his forehead. Jim started toward him, concerned.

"He'll be okay," Larissa said, grabbing his arm to stop him. She steered him into the kitchen. Pam followed, biting her lip anxiously. "It was closer than I expected," Larissa admitted quietly. "Kenny—Roy's brother," she explained in response to Jim's puzzled expression. "Almost got us with the card table. For such a big guy, he was really quick. Mark knocked it back, then bashed them into each other in midair. Roy got knocked out by the impact, and Kenny was pretty out of it. I convinced him to leave. He won't be back."

"What's with the ice pack?" he wanted to know.

"He's not physically hurt, just… mental overexertion. Their combined weight is well over five hundred pounds, and he moved them in opposite directions simultaneously." She smiled at the memory. "It was impressive."

He glanced at Pam. She didn't look impressed. "It's my fault," she whispered miserably, crossing her arms over her midsection.

He shushed her and put a gentle hand on her back. "It's _not_ your fault. He'll be okay." _Uncertainty. Guilt._ He guided her over to the living room couch, then righted the card table and began picking up the cards that had been flung around the room.

She crouched beside Mark. "Thank you. I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying to avoid making his headache any worse.

"'S'okay," he mumbled, eyes closed. "Not your fault. Really."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked tearfully.

He shrugged and shook his head. "I just need some sleep. Be good as new in the morning."

"I'll make breakfast," she promised.

"Thanks, roomie," he yawned. "Eggs and bacon, if you take requests."

She giggled, wiping away her tears with shaky hands. "Deal."

Jim offered him a hand. "Need help upstairs?"

He reached up and took it. With a grunt, he stood and shuffled toward the stairs. "I can move fuckin' anyone _but_ myself. Ain't that a bitch?"

Jim followed. Once they were out of earshot of Pam, he said, "I owe you."

"You know the…" He yawned again. "Price. Tell me and we're even."

He didn't hesitate. Mark looked at him, flabbergasted. "That's _it_? You couldn't have said that like… ten years ago?"

He shrugged, embarrassed. "I suck at it. It's not as cool as telekinesis. I don't know."

" _Dude_ ," he said, shaking his head. "I almost thought it _was_ pine-sol. What a letdown."

Jim smiled ruefully. "Alright, then I still owe you."

"Nah, I'm good." His answering grin was genuine. "Thanks."

"Thank _you_."

They paused outside Mark's bedroom door. "So, can you tell how I'm feeling right now?"

Jim rolled his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. _Pain. Exhaustion. Joy._ "Like shit, but happy. I always knew you were weird."

"You'd be happy too, if you saw those fatasses fly." _Pride. Mirth._

Jim chuckled. "Larissa said it was impressive." _Desire._ "Dude!" He jerked his hand away. "Not cool."

Mark laughed, then put a hand to his head and groaned. "I can't help it."

"Yeah, well," he grumbled. "I hope you're not asking for permission."

"Nope. She asked _me_ out."

Shaking his head, Jim backed away with his fingers in his ears. "I'm not hearing this."


	6. Apologetic Synesthetic

"What do you mean, suggestions?" It wasn't a concept Pam had ever encountered before. Although she'd known a few empaths—it was a relatively common power—Larissa must be an uncommonly strong one. 

"I could suggest a dislike of sports," Larissa replied patiently. "An aversion to guns. I could give him a desperate yearning to become a horse rancher in Texas… to go to college in Ireland. I can make it so he'll never contact you again… never hurt another woman again." She had already formulated a loose idea, but she wanted to see if Pam had anything more specific in mind.

"Isn't that illegal?" Pam breathed with incredulity. Possibilities flitted through her mind, one after another.

What he'd done to her was illegal too, and far more immoral, but Larissa let it go. "You better believe it. Fortunately, they won't seem any different from the rest of his own ideas. By morning, he won't remember he ever met me." She barked out a sardonic laugh. "He'd probably forget everything that happened tonight, anyway. He's drunker than hell."

Pam was fairly drunk herself, although the circumstances had sobered her up somewhat. She eyed his prone, hogtied figure warily. Relief and disgust hammered her in equal measures, along with a healthy dose of self-pity. How could she not regret all the wasted years? Her next words were quiet. "Did he ever love me?"

Larissa paused, wondering whether it would be better for Pam to hear a lie or the truth. "He wanted you. He needed you… but obsession is all he's ever been capable of," she admitted honestly.

She fished the ring out of her pocket and threw it at his unconscious form with a noise of disgust. He didn't so much as stir. "I never want to see him again. But I don't want him to forget me. And I _don't_ want him to think he's forgiven."

"Even if I could do that, I wouldn't," Larissa promised. "Honestly, it's impossible. He has almost a decade of memories that are entwined with you. There'd be almost nothing left."

 _Good_ , she thought venomously. Of course, that also meant she couldn't forget he'd ever existed. But as tempting as the thought was here and now, she didn't think she really wanted to. As appealing as a clean slate might be in the abstract, she wouldn't be the person she was without her memories of Roy… even the bad ones. She didn't exactly like the person she'd become. But if she didn't remember the mistakes she'd made, she might make the same ones again. God knew she had flaws… far more than she was comfortable admitting, even privately. She'd gone straight from living in her father's home to living in Roy's apartment, and she'd stayed with him far longer than she should have. But now, perhaps, she could reinvent herself. Shape herself into someone she _did_ like. She could get back into art... she could have friends again... she could be _happy_ again.

She glanced at Jim as he came down the stairs. _Pine mint lime_. "A cactus farm in the desert," she mumbled quietly. "With cats. Lots of cats." She wasn't a cat person herself, but Roy _truly_ despised them.

"I like the way you think." Larissa rubbed her hands together.

"Anything I can get you?" Jim offered.

"Tea if you have it, coffee if you don't. Then don't talk to me until…" She glanced at the clock. "Midnight or so." She would need all her concentration for the next few hours.

He started the coffeepot and opened the entryway door to evaluate the damage. A wooden end table had been used to shatter the large mirror on the wall. Shards of glass and pieces of wood were scattered every which way. There were holes in the drywall from Kenny's fists. The front door was dented, but able to close. Although the deadbolt was broken, the handle lock was safely engaged. He could worry about it in the morning. It was incredibly fortunate that they hadn't left Pam's things out here. They would surely have been destroyed.

"I'm so sorry," said Pam in a hushed voice. She'd sidled up while his back was turned.

His denial was instantaneous. "Don't be. This is _not_ your fault."

"Still…" she hedged. "I'll pay for everything." Now that the wedding was off, she could dip into their savings account.

Larissa spoke up before Jim could protest. "That won't be necessary. Kenny wrote you a check on his way out."

Pam let out a disbelieving snort. Kenny made decent money, but he was a notorious tightwad. "You can't be serious."

"He was absolutely wracked with guilt. He assured me it was literally the least he could do." She handed the check to Pam with a smile.

Her mouth fell open. _Two thousand dollars_? "Oh… my God. Th—thank you," she stammered out, feeling weird, exposed, and off-balance. "I'll cash it as soon as I can. I still feel terrible about… everything."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Jim reassured her. She looked down, unconvinced but unwilling to argue. He poured cups of coffee for the three of them. "What if he wakes up?" he asked Larissa.

"I slept him. He won't."

Amazed, he quirked his head. She could _sleep_ people? Holy _shit._ "Alright, let me know if you need anything else. And thank you."

"Yes. Thank you," Pam echoed. She busied herself adding cream and sugar to her mug.

"Trust me, it's my pleasure," she said grimly.

Moving to stand beside Pam at the counter, Jim reached for the sugar. "Your room's ready to go. Just up the stairs, first on the right, across the hall from the bathroom. Are you tired?"

Pam shook her head. She wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon. She was wired from the events of the evening, and not yet sober enough to comfortably close her eyes. She tried it for a brief moment. The room spun and her stomach roiled uncomfortably. She opened her eyes— _pine mint lime_ —and the nausea vanished. "Are you? I'm still pretty drunk," she admitted. _And I need you_ , she added silently.

"Not at all." If he got to sleep before two in the morning, it would be a minor miracle. He made his way over to a bookshelf that housed a massive number of DVDs. "How about a movie?"

Grateful for the distraction, she perused the shelves. She spotted _Legally Blonde_ and giggled softly. "You made fun of _me_ for liking this. I don't even _own_ it."

He eyed her curiously, seeing a glint of the old humor in her eyes. After all she'd been through today, it was a welcome surprise. "One—I wouldn't be caught dead buying that movie. It was a gag gift from Mark. And two—I only made fun of it because you mentioned it during Desert Island."

"It was on Meredith's list, not mine," she protested. "All I said was it doesn't completely suck."

"Maybe not completely, but it still sucks. And it's hardly good enough for movie night when we have so many amazing classics to choose from."

"What about a Christmas movie?" She wasn't in the mood for anything heavy or remotely romantic.

"Good call. How about _Die Hard_?"

She pounced. " _Die Hard_ is _not_ a Christmas movie!"

"I don't even know what you're saying right now. If _Home Alone_ is a Christmas movie, so is _Die Hard_."

"I have no words! _Home Alone_ is—"

He interrupted her, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "You said you had no words."

She shushed him. " _Home Alone_ is the quintessential Christmas movie. It has themes of family, redemption, homecoming. _Die Hard_ is an action movie that just happens to take place during the Christmas season _._ Holy God, Jim, it was released in _July_!"

"Such a nerd," he said fondly, reaching for the live-action Grinch movie. He held it out, bringing his hand within an inch of hers. "What about this one?"

 _Intrigued._ "I haven't actually seen it yet," she admitted.

" _How?_ " he crowed in disbelief. "How does that happen?"

 _Joy._ She laughed with her tongue between her teeth. "I guess it just passed me by, somehow."

"That's it, we're watching this." _Love._ "I don't want to live in a world where Pam Beesly hasn't witnessed the wonder that is Jim Carrey in a green bodysuit."

 _Mischief._ "I've seen _Batman Forever_."

"The wonder that is Jim Carrey in green makeup," he amended.

 _Triumph._ "I've seen _The Mask_."

"Beesly! Oh my _god_." He was sorely tempted to kiss her. He started the movie instead, then crept quietly into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of cheese popcorn. When he returned to the couch, Pam was sitting in the center cushion with her socked feet on the ottoman. He kicked off his shoes and sat beside her.

Pam snickered at the sight of the Grinch in a santa coat, a santa hat, and shoes. "That is a rather disturbing lack of pants," she commented.

"And yet, it's hardly indecent," Jim countered. "The Grinch isn't human, so he doesn't have to adhere to our standards. Not unlike the angels in _Dogma_."

"That was one scene! At least Alan Rickman wore pants for the rest of the movie. I reserve the right to be disturbed," she said primly before bursting out into giggles. "This movie is ridiculous. I think it worked better as a cartoon short."

He reached for the remote. "We can watch something else if you don't like it."

She grabbed his hand instinctively. _Affection._ "I didn't say that."

He turned his head to look at her. _Desire. Green Green Green._ Unsurprisingly, it was immediately followed by _Fear._ He read both in her eyes, one after the other. With an easy smile, he disentangled their fingers. "Alright, just say the word if you change your mind." _Relief._ "There's always _Die Hard_." _Humor._ "I'd even sit through _Legally Blonde_. That's just the kind of guy I am, Beesly." _Disbelief. Happiness._

"It's not that bad," she replied, a smile playing around her lips. "You do have _Dogma_ though, right?"

"As the proud owner of Kevin Smith's entire filmography, I can't believe you'd even ask that question. I'm wounded… no, I'm literally offended."

"Uh-huh," Pam hummed skeptically. She settled back into the couch cushions with a grin and ate a handful of popcorn. After everything that had happened, it was a wondrous thing to feel so… normal. Jim had fallen easily back into their old friendship, bantering like not a day had passed. She'd been distant for so long, she'd treated him like a stranger. But he hadn't asked why… he didn't even seem to expect an apology. She didn't know what his power was, so she couldn't be altogether sure what he knew. Regardless, she owed him an apology.

She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. She'd never been good at this… saying the hard things, having the hard conversations. Instead, she shifted uncomfortably and wondered how much Larissa had discovered, what she might have shared. Given her willingness to reprogram Roy, Mark's willingness to dish out an ass-kicking on her behalf, and the way Jim had protected her, surely they all knew more than Pam would ever have shared voluntarily. Half of her wanted to run screaming from the house at the very idea. But at the same time… they'd stuck by her. They could have called the police, they could have run, but they hadn't. She owed them more than sneaking off in the middle of the night. Besides, where would she go? Her mom was dead. Her dad would let her move back in, but he lived so far away… she'd have to quit her job. Leave everyone, everything she knew. And moving back in with Roy wasn't an option. If Larissa's powers were as strong as they seemed, he'd be leaving the state before long. And she would be free.

 _Fortunately_ , said a nasty little voice inside her head. _Otherwise you might have gone back to him. Admit it._ "No!" she denied vehemently. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she saw Jim's eyes searching hers.

After a beat, he reached for the bag of popcorn and shook some more into the bowl. "Sorry about that. I didn't realize I was about to steal the last piece."

She covered her eyes with her hands and let out a shaky little laugh. She _knew_ he knew that wasn't what she'd been protesting. She could admit, if only to herself, that she loved him all the more for it. "I think… I think I'm… going crazy," she admitted in a low voice.

"I think that's understandable. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she lied. She felt something break free inside her at the sincerity of his words. "Why?" she asked desperately as the tears began to flow.

Jim set the bowl on the ottoman and put an arm around her shoulders. "Why what?" _Self-loathing. Doubt._

She turned her face into his shoulder. The questions tumbled out, one after another. "Why did you pick up when I called? Why did you come looking for m-me? Why did you h-help?"

 _Because I love you, wonderful girl. Because you needed me, even if you couldn't ask for help._ "What kind of best friend would I be if I hadn't?"

 _Green Green Green. Love Green. LOVE._ "I haven't been acting like a f-friend. I'm the _worst_. I _suck_. You should _hate_ me, you should. I deserve it. Why don't you h-hate me?" _Doubt. Fear._

"None of that matters. I'll never stop being your friend. Even if we never spoke again."

"What… why… you…" _Unworthiness._ "Just, I'm sorry Jim. I'm so…" _Regret._

She had nothing to apologize for, but saying so would only upset her further. He let her cry and silently absorbed the whirlwind of her thoughts. _Confusion. Doubt. Regret. Fear. Love._ Before long, her sobs quieted. _Love. Belonging. Love. Safety. Love… Green… love Green…_ He didn't have to look down to know the moment she fell asleep, because her thoughts went utterly silent.

'I love you,' he mouthed, concentrating fiercely on directing positive thoughts her way. He'd been able to influence her during her panic attack earlier… maybe it could work now. There certainly wasn't any harm in trying. He envisioned the path they would take as they traveled from his brain, down his arm, and out his fingertips. He pressed his lips gently to her temple and imagined the words flowing out of his mouth, through her skin, into her very soul. 'Sleep well. Sweet dreams. No nightmares. You're safe now. He will never hurt you again. I would never hurt you. Love yourself, Pam. You are worthy, you _are_. Never doubt it. You're stronger than you know. You will get through this. You _will._ I'll help as much as you let me. I love you so much.'

When the movie ended, he flipped to Cartoon Network and rested his head against the back of the couch. He kept up the litany, feeling more and more drained, until his eyes closed of their own accord.


	7. Punch-Drunk Love

Jim blinked blearily as he ascended toward consciousness. Larissa removed her hand from his forehead and held a finger up to her lips. With the other, she held out a damp washcloth. "Nosebleed," she whispered.

"Shit," he breathed. He glanced at Pam. She was still asleep on him, and his shoulder was numb. "I need to get up. Can you sleep her?"

Larissa put her hand on Pam's forehead. After a moment, she nodded. Jim extricated himself and dabbed at the dried blood with the rag, rotating his arm as he checked the time. It was after midnight.

"What the hell were you doing?" she asked.

"Sending her positive thoughts. I didn't know if it would work." He hoped it hadn't been for nothing. His head was pounding.

Larissa smiled proudly. "You shouldn't be doing that."

"Like you ever let that stop you," he grumbled irritably. "Did it work, or not?"

She closed her eyes and focused on Pam. "Like a bucket in a river, but they got through. It's a great step, don't get me wrong, but you can't expect change overnight."

He felt encouraged. "I wouldn't want that, anyway. How's Roy?"

"I'm done."

"What did you suggest?"

With a grin, she counted them off on her fingers. "Aversions to alcohol, weapons, violence, and menial labor. Affinities for sexual consent, solitude, conventional morality, the southwest, sand, sun, cacti, higher education, and the piano. And, not that he knows it yet, but a propensity for occasional erectile dysfunction."

" _Wow_." He was thoroughly impressed.

"He deserves worse," she said with disgust. "I'd have done worse, but she'll feel responsible if he kills himself."

"Does he remember it all?"

"Yes, and he regrets it. He'll leave her alone. He wanted to apologize, but I told him no. He's writing her a letter as we speak. I figured we could both read it and decide whether to give it to her."

He started toward the kitchen. "I need to talk to him."

She grabbed his arm. "He's not even the same person anymore. You could very well say something to put him at risk of contacting Pam."

"Then you'll wipe the conversation when I'm done," he said in a voice that would brook no disagreement.

"I can tell you anything you want to know."

It wasn't something he wanted to know _._ It was something he wanted to do. No, _needed_ to do. "When was the last time I asked you for a favor, 'Riss? _I need this_." He wrested his arm from her grasp and stalked toward the kitchen. The closer he got, the worse the pounding in his head became. The pain was accompanied by a sense of mounting dread. Groaning, he came to a reluctant stop.

"Yes, I'm doing that. Sit your ass down."

He obeyed immediately, taking a seat on the floor. Immediately the headache lifted, along with the foreboding. " _Christ_ ," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"If you insist on talking to him, then you need to know the backstory first. I could wipe the conversation, but I'm _really_ fucking tired. What I just did to you took a lot more goddamn energy than it should've."

She looked legitimately exhausted. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. But not sorry enough to capitulate. "What backstory?"

"He needed a reason to have a change of heart, a reason to leave Scranton. He remembers a conversation with his brother and Pam after they came here and busted up the place. Kenny found out Pam didn't cheat on him. He turned on Roy and they had a long chat. After Kenny convinced him he was a piece of shit rapist, he knocked Roy out cold." She took a deep breath. "When Roy woke up, I told him that nobody would press charges as long as he agreed to leave town and leave her alone. He won't try to contact his brother or Pam again, and he won't go to the hospital to get checked out for head trauma. Even if he does, I didn't leave any traces. The only thing left to do is make him forget me and Mark ever existed. He'll be taking a bus to Arizona tomorrow, once he signs over the truck to Pam and packs his things."

" _Wow_ ," he said admiringly. "You're… scary."

"I'm tired. Can we get this over with?" She waved a hand toward the kitchen and followed him inside.

Roy looked up from the kitchen table and flushed darkly. "Hey Halpert. Sorry about the…" He waved a hand toward the entryway.

"Yeah, me too. Do you always break everything you touch?" Roy squirmed uncomfortably and said nothing. "Finish your letter," said Jim magnanimously. After a minute, Roy set down the pen. "All done?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

"Oh, fantastic." Jim made a show of folding the sheet of paper. He tucked it into his back pocket. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? Pam is the most amazing girl on the planet and you tried to break her."

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I don't know what else to say. I'm not going to contact her again. She already wants you… more than she ever wanted me. What more do you want?"

Jim leaned down and spoke deliberately. "I want you to listen carefully, you fucking rapist. You deserve to rot in prison until the end of your natural life. Since you won't, I want you to think about what you did to Pam every minute of every day for the rest of your life. I don't want you to have a single moment of peace or happiness ever again. I want you to feel like the piece of garbage you are. I want you to know that when she gets better—and she will—it will be because I'm here and you're _gone_." He waited for Roy's loud, ugly sobs to die down a bit. "And I want to hit you. One shot. It's less than you deserve, but it'll make me feel better."

Behind Roy, Larissa threw her hands up in silent frustration.

"Come on, man," Roy whined. "Don't you think I've been through enough for one night?"

"Not on your life, motherfucker. You can stand up and take a gut shot like a man, or I can kick you in the nuts where you sit. I'm not picky."

He rose reluctantly. "Have you ever hit anyone in your life, Halpert?"

"Nope," Jim said cheerfully, driving his fist squarely into Roy's stomach before he could brace himself for the blow. _Agony. Humiliation. Regret._ Roy doubled up and fell, gasping and coughing, to the linoleum.

Jim smirked to himself. _Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker._ He didn't protest when Larissa steered him bodily out of the kitchen.

"Great speech," she complimented him. "I'd ask if it was really necessary to descend to physical violence, but at least you got it out of your system."

"It was necessary," he assured her, rubbing his knuckles. "You need any help getting him out of the house?"

"I got it, thanks."

"Thank _you._ " He hugged her tightly, radiating love and gratitude. "Do whatever you need to. Just don't tell me if you have to wipe it."

"Love you too. You should know I asked Mark on a date. If that's weird, well… too bad."

He sighed and took a step back. "I'll get over it. Just don't expect me to take sides if it ends badly."

Grinning, she returned to the kitchen. He pulled the letter from his pocket and closed himself in the bathroom. After reading it, he slipped it into his pocket with a shrug. Roy had been smart enough to avoid implicating himself, and not nearly as apologetic as he should have been. It was a hell of a way to wrap up a decade-long relationship. But it contained information that Pam needed to have, and none of the contents were outright objectionable.

He settled down on a chair in the living room. Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait. Larissa shuffled in wearily and placed a hand on Pam's head, then took a seat in another chair. "She'll sleep until morning. Letter me and turn on the light," she requested. "What do you think?" she asked after reading it.

"It'll do."

She nodded her agreement and tucked it into her pocket. "I'll give it to her tomorrow. Do you mind carrying her upstairs? She's on my bed." She eyed the couch with longing.

"Take my bed, I'll take the couch. Give me five minutes, I'll change the sheets."

"I won't argue with that," she said drowsily.

On his way up, he carried Pam's box to her room. He changed his sheets, then retrieved a pillow and blanket and change of clothes for himself. "All set," he told Larissa. "You want me to carry you, too?"

She snorted and made her way toward the stairs. "Not on your life, motherfucker."

"Inappropriate," he objected with a grin, following her up with the suitcase and paintings. After saying their goodnights, he flipped on the light in Pam's room and took a look around. It was clean, if a bit sterile. Thankfully, Mark and Larissa had made it livable before Roy crashed the party. The space wasn't large, but it was furnished. He spread Pam's quilt on the bed and added her pillow and the stuffed animals. He put the books on the nightstand, the DVDs beside the television. With a smile, he set the green teapot on the desk alongside her jewelry box and the framed photos. She hadn't brought a single picture of Roy. They'd all been taken in her younger years, mostly with family. One in particular stuck out—a large group of young people, each holding a painting or drawing or sculpture. A hand-painted banner was tacked to the wall behind them: _Art Club Seniors 1997_. His stomach clenched when he saw the painting in Pam's hands. Art had never been his forte, but everybody in the civilized world was familiar with Van Gogh's _Starry Night._ " _Bastard._ Prison's not good enough," he muttered bitterly, wishing he'd gotten in more than a single hit, taking time to compose himself before making one last trip.

He gathered Pam's limp form carefully in his arms, although a full marching band could have stampeded through the living room without waking her. "Sweet dreams," he whispered against her forehead as he ascended the stairs. "The sweetest. Just like you. Art. Freedom. Fun. We're here for you… green and yellow and teal." He spread the quilt over her and tucked one of the stuffed animals beside her shoulder. She didn't stir, and her breathing remained deep and regular. Sitting on the side of the bed, he took one of her hands in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "We'll help you as much as we can. As much as you let us. _Let us._ Let _me._ I love you. I'll always love you." He didn't realize he was crying until he saw teardrops falling onto the back of her hand. Safe in the certainty that she would never know, he gave into the storm of emotion.


	8. Propitious Releases

Pam started awake with a gasp, beset with the familiar premonition that something was terribly wrong. Any second now, Roy's demands for breakfast or sex—flip a coin on any given morning—would reverberate loudly inside her head as he shook her awake. No matter how late he stayed up or how much he drank, he nearly always woke up first. He'd be _so_ angry. The insides of her eyelids were bright red, so the sun must already be up. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, braced herself, and waited for the inevitable.

Silence greeted her. Sunlight warmed her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open, feeling gummy and sore. Somehow, she'd fallen asleep with her contacts in. She blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Where was the familiar crack in the plaster? She looked to her left, then her right. Where was _Roy_?

Suddenly, she sat up. As she looked around the room, she recalled the events of the night before. She eyed her bare ring finger. A surprised laugh burst from her chest, then another. As light as a feather, she hugged her pink teddy bear and wept happy tears. She probably looked like an insane person, but for once there was nobody to see, nobody to hear, nobody to judge.

She was _free._

Carefully, she crept out of the bedroom, although she needn't have bothered. The other two bedroom doors were closed. Feeling refreshed after a much-needed shower, she threw on her backup glasses and bounded down the stairs. She screeched to a halt at the sight of Jim— _pine mint lime—_ asleep on the couch. He was far too tall to fit on it comfortably. His limbs were awkwardly positioned, like an abandoned marionette. One of his arms was crooked overhead, resting on the pillow, the other flung sideways onto the ottoman. One foot rested on the floor and his other knee was bent, the only way his leg would fit on the cushions. He'd probably been under the blanket at one point, but it was jammed into the crevice between his body and the back of the couch. He was eminently adorable in repose, his hair boyishly rumpled, his chin lightly stubbled. His t-shirt had ridden up, exposing an unexpectedly delicious patch of abdomen. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to touch him there… to tickle him awake… to kiss the dark arrow of hair connecting his belly button to the waistband of his sweatpants.

 _Little soon to be jumping into bed again, isn't it?_ asked the nasty voice inside her head. A lump rose in her throat. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to enjoy sex again, but it was hardly illegal to look. Intent on honoring the promise she'd made to Mark the night before, she tore her gaze away and tiptoed into the kitchen. Before long, a sleep-roughened voice sounded from behind her. "Mark's breakfast, I presume?"

Pam glanced over her shoulder. It was Jim, of course, grinning tiredly. His hair was mussed, although his shirt had been restored to its rightful position. _How unfortunate,_ she mused before she could stop herself. Smiling, she slid three perfectly-salted fried eggs onto a plate, alongside several crisp strips of bacon. "Yours too. Unless he can eat a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon by himself."

"Beesly!" He crossed the kitchen and accepted the plate with sincere gratitude. _Pride. Happiness._ "Don't let him hear you say that. He'd do it just to spite me." _Humor._ He leaned against the counter and took a bite, then hummed his appreciation.

Mark opened his door a sliver. Seeing nobody in the hallway, he ushered Larissa out. Quickly, she closeted herself in the bathroom. "Something smells amazing," he called as he ambled slowly down the stairs. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he levitated a strip of bacon from Jim's plate and into his open mouth.

"You're the _worst_ roommate ever," he griped. Pam's giggles echoed off the ceiling.

"Be grateful I didn't take it all," he parried. "Thanks for cooking, Pam."

"Anytime." She handed Mark a plate. "It's the least I could do after you saved my bacon last night."

They groaned simultaneously. "Keep it up," said Jim with a teasing lilt.

"Best roommate ever," Mark said appreciatively. "And you should know, it gets pretty competitive."

"There's a trophy involved," said Jim, nodding sagely.

Pam smiled, secretly marveling. It had been years since she'd gotten the least bit of gratitude in response to a home-cooked meal. Roy had come to expect them as his due years ago.

Before long, Larissa stepped lightly down the stairs. "Good lord, Pam. You actually _enjoy_ cooking." She felt Mark's desire radiating from across the kitchen. Although it was far from unwelcome, she avoided glancing at him.

"And we enjoy eating," said Mark, proving it with gusto. "I foresee this being a very harmonious arrangement."

"Hey, Larissa!" said Pam. "I didn't know you were staying over."

"It was pretty late by the time I sent Roy packing."

She nodded her understanding as she pulled the egg carton back out of the refrigerator. "Fried or scrambled?"

"Fried, thanks." She pulled the letter from her pocket. "Incidentally, he won't be bothering you anymore."

Red-faced, Pam shoved it into the pocket of her jeans, avoiding eye contact with anybody. After breakfast, she excused herself and closed herself in the downstairs bathroom to read.

 

_Pammy,_

_You gave my ring back. I'm not the smartest man on earth, but I guess that means your done. I can't blame you. I'm not sure if you care, but I won't sell it. I under stand that things are over between us, and that its entirely my fault. Nothing I could ever say could make it up to you, but I truely am sorry._

_I'm taking a bus out of town as soon I can. Hopefuly tommorow night. I'd tell you where I'm going, but I'm not sure yet. All I know is I need to get out of Scranton. I'll never be happy here. To many memories, to many bad habits, to many people who remember them._

_I'll need the money in the checking account to get where I'm going. You can have the savings, and whatever furniture you want. I'm signing over the truck to you to. You can keep it or sell it, its your's now. I know its not much but its all I have. I'll leave the title on the kitchen table._

_I'm thinking you'll probably want to get your own place. But if you want to stay in the appartment, I think you need to apply again with the land lord. I'm not sure how that works. We've been there so long its probably all changed by now. Any way, once you take the stuff you want, let Darryl know. He'll take or trash the rest._

_I'll tell my parents it was my idea to break up. I think its whats best for you. Hopefuly my mom doesn't bother you. I can't promise any thing, you know how she is._

_I don't know how to end this. I'm not good at writing letters. I'm sorry._

_Roy_

 

Numb, she folded the letter and put it back into her pocket. He was leaving Scranton, leaving her alone. She crouched on the floor, circling her bent knees with her arms. She waited for tears, expecting them, but they wouldn't come. He'd long since killed the love she'd once had for him. A myriad of conflicting emotions consumed her… regret. Fear. Hatred… no, _loathing_.

Larissa was waiting in the hallway when she opened the door. "Closure is overrated, Pam. He's hardly the same person today that he was yesterday. He remembers it all, and he'll regret it for the rest of his life."

Pam's eyes took on a steely, determined gleam. That wasn't enough. Roy hadn't said much at all, but he'd said his piece. Before he was gone forever, she _would_ say hers.

"He won't hurt you again. He'll never hurt another person again." Pam stalked silently to the entryway and pulled on her coat. She'd walk if she had to. Larissa sighed. The sound was colored with resignation. "I could stop you, but I won't. But I can't come with you. Neither can Mark. Roy doesn't remember we exist." She called Jim's name. "Don't mention us, it will only confuse things."

She nodded. "I won't. Is there anything else I should know?" She listened as Larissa told her the backstory.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone with him," Jim ventured once they were in the car. He'd changed into jeans and combed his hair.

"That's fine," she agreed readily. They wouldn't be talking out loud, in any case.

"You don't have to do this," Jim said softly once they'd arrived. "But it's your decision."

She thanked him and took some time to shore up her strength before heading up to the porch. When Roy opened the door, hungover as hell, she shrank back instinctively. She reached for Jim's arm automatically and hung back, just for a moment. Swallowing hard, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, looking into the bloodshot blue eyes that had once charmed her… he'd been the star of the football team, she'd been the starry-eyed art geek. An easy target, it was clear in retrospect.

His eyes widened in surprise. _Pammy? What are you doing here?_ He glanced warily at Jim, his expression making it clear that he recalled at least some portion of the events from the night before.

Jim's fists clenched involuntarily. He wondered if Roy remembered the punch. Then he wondered if Roy was reading his thoughts. He couldn't hear what the other man was thinking, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening.

 _You're a monster,_ she thought decisively.

Roy blanched. The natural ruddiness of his cheeks stood out in harsh contrast. _I'm sorry._

Pam eyed him coolly. _So you wrote._

Jim shifted uneasily. It was clear from their facial expressions that they were communicating silently. He hadn't expected that. He edged a little nearer Pam. _Self-righteousness. Superiority. Disdain._ Although he desperately wanted to know what she was saying, she wasn't frightened or hesitant in the least. That was encouraging.

_I don't know what else to say._

_I don't want you to say anything. That's not why I came. I came to tell you that I will never forgive what you did to me. You tried to… break me, but I won't let you win. I hope you have a long, miserable life. I hope you die alone. I hope you think about me, every single day. And I hope you know that I WON'T be thinking about you._ She turned toward Jim and looped her hands around his neck. Eyes blazing, her gaze fell to his lips.

Jim held his breath. _Vindictiveness._ But it was more than that. _Need. Desire. Love Green. LOVE._ His heart skipped several beats, then galloped ferociously to make up for lost time. Everything about this moment was _so_ wrong. This wasn't supposed to be their first kiss. But god help him, he'd wanted to kiss her for so long. And she wanted it… no, she _needed_ it. More importantly, she wasn't afraid in the slightest. Against his better judgment, he lowered his lips to hers and brushed them softly. He pressed his hands against her lower back, his fingertips practically throbbing as he pulsed out his thoughts. _I love you, Pam. Forget about Roy. I've loved you since the day we met._

Pam melted into the warm circle of Jim's arms and moaned, forgetting where she was, who was watching. She didn't consider the past, the future. She opened her mouth and brushed his lower lip with her tongue. An answering groan bubbled up from his chest as he tentatively lifted his tongue. _Love. Safety. Yearning. Love. Desire. Need. LOVE Green. LOVE!_ He felt a sense of homecoming, of rightness, of fate fulfilled. As though everything that had happened in his life had deliberately led him to this moment, for this purpose. She responded instantly, twining her tongue with his. Although her eyes were closed, she smelled the pine of his aftershave, tasted the mint of his toothpaste. She opened her eyes a slit and saw his closed eyes, the beautiful concentration in the furrow of his brow, and _pine mint lime_ she was utterly lost.

Pam's thoughts were such a slurry, Jim couldn't even begin to keep up. He stopped trying to label them and gave himself over, simply feeling what she felt. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours later when they separated. Their breaths mingled together in the frosty air for a long, timeless moment. "I love you," they whispered simultaneously.

She chewed her lip. "You do?"

"Since Cugino's," he confessed, pressing his lips into her forehead. "More every day."

 _Surprise_. _Love. Hope._ "You said you were over me," she reminded him.

"I lied. I'm sor—"

 _Forgiveness._ She pressed her lips against his and stole his apology, along with his breath. "I didn't just do that because he was watching, you know." _Sincerity. Love Green._ Not that he was watching anymore. The two of them were alone on the porch. Roy could have yelled and slammed the door while a herd of elephants paraded through the yard, for all she'd been aware of her surroundings.

"I know," he reassured her.

She took a deep breath. "I thought you might." Her brow furrowed. "Is this the part where we tell each other our powers?"

He hesitated. "First, I want you to know I'd deactivate in a heartbeat. If you want." Deactivation was an expensive procedure, and it was far from risk-free. But she'd lived with a monster inside her head for so long. He wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she'd rather keep him out.

She lifted her hand to his cheek with a rueful smile. "You're an empath, aren't you?"

He reared back in astonishment. " _How?_ " Larissa wouldn't have told her. He was sure of it. Would she? But… how else could Pam know?

She held his gaze steadily, unblinking. "My panic attack yesterday." There was no question in her mind that her sudden calmness had come from an external source. "Last night was the first time in years that I didn't have a single nightmare." It had been completely unprecedented. She'd originally thought it was Larissa's doing, but his reaction indicated otherwise. His expression was stark… shocked… guilty. "And, well…" She brushed his lower lip with her thumb. She'd only kissed three people in her life. The first, a boy named Craig in seventh grade, had been an empath. He'd died tragically young, but she'd never forgotten the experience. "I figured it out."

"When I told you not to be scared, I didn't think it would work," he hastened to explain. _Trust. Intrigued. Love Green._ "And I told you not to have nightmares, but I _really_ didn't think that would work. I never influenced anyone before I met you, Pam. I didn't even know I could. I swear, I only want what's best for you, I would never—I never honed it. I'm nothing like Larissa. I can't read memories from your past. I can't alter the future. I'll _never_ be able to do that whole… suggestion thing, even if I wanted to. Yesterday, I could only hear your emotions when I was touching you. I can't hear you today from more than an inch apart… But if you want, I'll deactivate. I mean that."

Very well-aware that he hadn't once touched her until yesterday, and equally aware that she'd been using her power on him without his permission for as long as they'd known each other, she closed her eyes and tilted her head expectantly. "Don't you dare."

Relief coursed through him as he dipped his head again. "I love you so much."

She sighed happily. "Don't you want to know mine?" she breathed against his lips.

"In a minute."

Several minutes later, they were driven back to the car by the cold. On their way to the bank, she told him.

"That's fascinating. Seriously. I picked up on the way you think of people as colors, but I didn't know you literally tasted them."

"It's not fascinating," she objected. "It's weird and useless."

"It's not useless. You're the best cook I've ever met. And you're an artist, I'm sure it's linked. And it's unique. I've never heard of it before."

"Ugh… me neither," she commiserated.

"Did you and Larissa decide on a name for it?"

She laughed ruefully. "You remember when you said I had good taste? I was actually thinking about calling it that."

He chuckled heartily. "I like it." After a moment, he asked, "So of course, now I have to ask… what do I taste like?" He was dying to know.

She opened her mouth, then closed it suddenly. She averted her gaze with a shrug. "Green things."

 _Hesitation. Embarrassment._ "Alright," he said quietly after a moment. He wouldn't push her.

"You can tell when I'm lying, can't you?" she asked suddenly.

 _Fear. Nervousness._ He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean I know what the truth is. It's not like telepathy. I can only feel your emotions, so I know you're being dishonest. But I can't read your thoughts." She said nothing. After a moment, he went on. "Anyway, you weren't lying just now." She'd withheld the full truth, but that was hardly the same thing.

Pam wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection. She _had_ lied to him, when he found her in the kitchen. _So_ many times. Surely he'd known it. "How could you love someone, knowing they've lied to you?" _How could you love me?_

 _Doubt. Inferiority. Fear._ "People are complicated. I'm a crappy empath, Pam, but even I know that everybody lies every day. I lie. It's human nature. How could I expect any different from you without being a hypocrite?"

He couldn't, she reflected, but that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't. Roy had always been able to tell when she was lying and he'd held it against her, without giving her the ability to detect the same in him. Even if Jim wanted to, he _couldn't_ let her see in. Unlike Roy's, his power wasn't two-way. Not that Jim was anything like Roy. She wouldn't love him if he were. Still, the experience—the reticence to trust—had long since been ingrained in her soul.

"I can't promise I'll never lie to you," he continued. "Nobody could say that and mean it. And I don't expect you to never lie to me." He smiled to himself as he swung into a parking spot. "And if it's any consolation, my power doesn't work over the phone or even from…" He scooted to the left in the driver's seat, severing the connection. "Here."

She took his hand deliberately. "Can I tell you something, in all honesty?"

 _Sincerity._ Did she even have to ask? "Of course."

"You're incredible, Jim. I wish… if I'd just met _you_ in high school…." A tear trickled down her cheek. She sighed and confessed, "I don't know anything right now. About _anything._ "

 _Fear. Confusion. Love. "_ That's okay. Honestly." It wasn't just what she needed to hear. It was the truth.

She gasped, her breath catching on a sob. "It is?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"You wouldn't try to… influence—"

"Pam, _no._ " He looked at her intently. "I just want you to be happy. With or without me." Conviction rang clear in his voice.

She let go of his hand and shrank back against the passenger door. "Would you be… happy? Without me?"

 _No_ , his brain rebelled instantly. _Never. Not in a thousand years._ "That doesn't… my feelings don't matter right n—"

"They matter to me," she demurred quietly.

He couldn't feel her from here, and her expression was inscrutable. He wasn't sure whether she wanted to hear the truth or a lie. And he was equally unsure which would be better for her in the long run. "No," he admitted softly.

If he was going to influence her, Pam realized, he could have done it a long time ago. But he hadn't. She launched herself over the center console and clasped him fiercely.

Jim basked in the love coursing through her. Combined with his own, the feeling was overwhelming in its intensity. He wound his arms around her before slipping his fingers into her hair. "Of course I wouldn't be happy without you. I love you, I'm… _in love_ with you. These past months have been… hard." They'd been lonely, stark, nightmarish, but she didn't need that much honesty right now. "But we're talking again, and that's… it's _amazing_. If all you want is a best friend—for now, forever—I hope you'll let me be that."

"I don't know what to call this," she murmured. "But I don't think best friends are supposed to kiss." _Humor. Love._ She pressed her lips to his neck.

He huffed out a shaky, unsure laugh against her temple. There was no way this wasn't a dream. Pam _loved_ him. She knew _he_ loved _her_ , and she wanted him to kiss her _…_ the way he'd dreamed of kissing her for years. In all that time, he'd never seriously considered getting permission to do it. "We don't have to call it anything." He kissed his way down to her ear.

She sighed his name dreamily. "I almost forgot how it felt."

He would never, ever ask, but he wondered how long it had been. What an idiot Roy was, not to kiss this wonderful woman as often as he could when he'd had the chance. "I'll remind you every day," he breathed warmly as he nuzzled her earlobe. She shivered in response. _Love. Desire. Fear_ —just for a moment. It was quickly followed by _Determination._ Slowly, he pulled back. He would not push her. "You should head inside. I think they close at noon," he reminded her.

Pam glanced at the clock with a sheepish nod. After the car door shut, Jim pulled out his phone. "Hey… Yeah, it went um, it went great…" He rolled his eyes tolerantly. "No, I didn't hit him again. They were talking telepathically, so I don't know what they said. But her emotions were positive… Oh, you know. Self-righteous, disdain. No sadness or regret or temptation… Very. I thought so, too." He coughed nervously. "Then uh, she kissed me in front of him." There was no point in hiding it. Larissa would find out the next time she saw Pam anyway. "Mostly for the right reasons. Hey, um, I had a question… You said you got the worst of it last night? …No, that's not what I'm asking. I want to know what she… what _we'll_ be dealing with now. I just want to be prepared for—for the future, you know? Is she—is she at risk of—you know… s-suicide?" he whispered, pained.

His mood lightened immediately as she told him that, although Pam had never learned to resist Roy's telepathic intrusions, she had a core of strength and a very low inclination for self-destruction. The fact that she'd survived his onslaught was proof of that. She might have self-harmed if not for Larissa's suggestions, but never to the point of suicide. After scrubbing a few of Pam's worst memories, she would be very surprised if things ever got that bad. "But she hasn't really loved him in a long time, Jim. If _you_ break her heart, all bets are off."

"Not in a thousand years."

 

Twenty minutes later, Pam had a brand new bank account, a brand new debit card, and sole access to almost ten thousand dollars. Although she'd never gotten Roy to commit to an actual wedding date, they'd been passively saving up for years. It would be almost twelve thousand, once Kenny's check cleared… more money than she'd ever had in her life. She wasn't sure how best to spend it. Of course, she'd have to pay for the damages to Jim and Mark's apartment first. But she'd be able to pay rent. Maybe she could buy a car. Maybe even a _purple_ car.

She grinned, finding herself contemplating the future with anticipation instead of dread for the first time in years.


	9. Epilogue-Into the Sunlight

_Six months later_

Pam's hands were dicing potatoes, but her thoughts were miles away. It just didn't make financial sense to move. Her third of rent in Jim's apartment was less than half the rent had been at Roy's, and far less than the cost to rent even a studio apartment on the bad side of town. And that didn't even factor in the break they gave her for cooking every day. She'd have done it regardless—she loved to cook, especially after bringing over her well-stocked spice rack. But they'd insisted having a live-in-chef was worth well more than the hundred bucks they knocked off her portion. Not to mention, she'd have to buy furniture if she moved. After the down payment on her new car, she'd have to shop for everything secondhand. And she liked having roommates, honestly. There was always someone to play cards with, to watch a movie with. They had friends who actually came over, so the apartment was rarely silent. After years of never speaking aloud at home, it was like stepping from the shadows into the sunlight. Some of their friends had even become her friends, which was nothing short of a miracle. How long had it been since she'd had _friends_ , plural? She couldn't even recall.

"G'mornin'."

Looking over her shoulder, Pam smiled at the interruption… the real reason she had no desire to find her own apartment. _Pine mint lime kiwi._ He was barefoot, sleep-rumpled, and more delicious than ever. “Morning!” she replied brightly. Fortunately, he’d earned her therapist's enthusiastic stamp of approval. Jim's idea, not hers. She hadn't needed the results of a telepathic examination to know she was far better off with him than she would have been alone–no matter what conventional wisdom decreed about living alone after a long relationship, and waiting to date after an abusive one–but the offer had meant the world to her. And, honestly, the results _had_ set her mind at ease.

“What's on the menu for today?” Stretching, he tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

"Corned beef hash. _Not_ from a can."

His eyes lit up with appreciation. "Is there anything you can't cook?"

"Sushi," she said seriously.

"That doesn't count," he objected, crossing the kitchen. "Sushi isn't cooking, it's raw fish arrangement. Two completely different skill sets."

"I'd have to cook the rice." Her smile broadened into a grin as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You make the best rice I've ever tasted. It actually has _flavor_ ,” he mused aloud. “Which I don't get at all, because rice should theoretically be the most boring food on the planet." He kissed her cheek.

"Chicken broth," she confessed. "A little salt."

"And a lot of magic," he added sagely. He released her and started the coffeepot. After eyeing the ingredients on the counter, he reached into the cabinet with a smile.

“Little early for vegetables, isn't it?” she asked as he set a can beside the potatoes.

“Don't you need it? You said you were making _corned_ beef hash,” he joked, waggling his eyebrows provocatively.

She pointed the spatula at him. “You know the rules,“ she warned him sternly, smiling in spite of herself.

He wrapped his arms around her waist again, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “I'll stop doing ‘em when you stop laughing,” he said, affecting a British accent.

She relaxed into the warm shelter of his body. “I am not laughing,” she parried in the same cadence.

“We should watch that later,“ he suggested. Sweeping aside her hair, he trailed a series of kisses against the back of her neck. “Anything I can do to help?”

She grinned. “You're already doing it.” He chuckled quietly, making his way around to her ear. "Making the coffee, I mean. Very usef–" Her words disappeared on a moan as he slipped his free hand up to cup her breast.

"You were saying?" He grinned victoriously.

She gulped and carefully set down the knife before she could drop it. "How um, hungry are you?"

"Oh, I'm starving," he murmured, nibbling her earlobe as his hands meandered lazily south. "For a woman of very good taste."

"You're such a dork," she laughed, eagerly nudging him toward their bedroom.


End file.
